Her voice is lower, but beneath Alalla seethes. She's not even here and she's still making things difficult for us.
The Severed Hand
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Rolls
Persuasion - (1d20+7)
(15) + 7 = 22
At Zenithrals words Ug stops and turns his glare on the half-elf. "And you too priest!" Ug practically spits out the last word.
And then there was Ras. Little friend Ras. Ras who had seemed to maybe understand before. How could he not understand now?
Though their words are empty and hollow to him, Ug lowers his weapon. Getting past the other two would be difficult, especially with that priests cursed arrow. but getting past Ras? Ug couldn’t bring himself to do it this time.
Ug let’s out a frustrated growl at Zen through gritted teeth and turns back to where they entered and makes to head back down the stairs, no longer caring why they were here.
When Ug leaves to sit on the stairs outside, the elf gives Alalla a small nod and moves near to the door, keeping an eye on both the goliath and the events in the room.
The other elf in the room, the one who was tinkering with the strange equipment when the party arrived, steps forward hesitantly. Sweat drips down his pale face. "D-d-did you s-say... Arannis? G-grandson?" Beyond the obvious stutter, his Common is heavily accented. "I-I-I... knew your g-g-g-grandfather!"
The centuries have not been kind to this elf, but Zenithral recognizes him as Gelarith, the wizard he overheard speak with Kaylessa about Arannis during his first trip through the Hand.
He shakes his head. "But none of that really matters now. An Old Enemy is leading the entire Dale to its destruction, and we have reason to believe you, Larrel, can use the Heartstone Gem to somehow help."
She turns her back on Ug, trusting Erevain to watch him, and turns her focus to those still in the room.
You can only do what you can do.
His postures straightens and he paces the floor for a moment, a finger on his chin as he thinks. "We spun the mythal from the Weave itself, but imperfectly. It was not strong enough for the task, and so had to pull the energy from... somewhere." The elf's eyes trace the long barrel of the apparatus stuck through the roof. "The stars... the light... th-th-th....!"
With a cry of pain he grabs his head, then lunges again at the equipment, hands grasping at levers.
He looks down at his rotting hands for a moment, then at Zenithral. "Your grandfather left my daughter in the hands of dwarves, and then returned too late to be any help here. And my daughter... My daughter is dead, centuries past. This, I see. But at least she escaped this fate. She was free to move on to the next life... For that, your family has my thanks."
The lich stands. "I will help you. I do not know what you mean by 'Old Enemy'. But perhaps..." He tucks the diary into his robe, then holds the Heartstone Gem forward atop his open palm. "If one of you is willing, I can read the history of your mind, and grant you the insight you lack."
Larrel touches one finger to Zenithral's forehead -
The half-elf stumbles back, reeling from the sensation of every memory being scoured in an instant. Larrel nods gravely, his eyes staring into some faraway place. "A darkness does indeed threaten the land. This Old Enemy you speak of - he is patient and cunning. And tenacious." The Heartstone Gem flares in the lich's hand. "But much of what he is and wants is hidden even from me. This artifact is of the land itself, and so excels at divining matters of the creatures that dwell here. But this Old Enemy is not of this plane. This much I do know: he is a Baatezu, a high-ranking archdevil of Baator, and his name is Belhifet."
The red light of the Gem darkens, casting the features of all those present into crimson shadows. "He wandered Faerûn for decades, learning of the peoples here and crafting plans. Making connections, alliances. I do not know his end goal, but his forces in the North stir for war even now." The light and shadows flicker like torchlight. Flames, all across the land...
"I do not know if he can be stopped. Every day he gathers strength. But perhaps..." Larrel frowns. "I need more. My connection to the Gem is not strong enough in this state." He turns sharply to look at Ras. "Druid. Come here."
Ras takes a deep breath and then steps toward Larrel, his little heart racing. He can do this. For Fergy.
As Ras does so, he feels a sudden warmth and vigor rush through his veins. Flowers erupt from the stones under his feet, and a summer breeze wells up about him.
Larrel gasps as the power floods through him as well, and for a moment he appears as he must have in life - with gold skin and silver hair, and piercing blue eyes. In that moment, Ras understands that if Larrel were truly an evil lich, he would have been destroyed by this power. Whatever the archmage is, he is not a true lich.
"We cannot know everything he does, but we can learn where he is right now." Ras feels his druidic magic being directed by Larrel through the Gem....
Ug, from his place on the stairs, cannot help but be drawn by the magic taking place. As the image resolves, he feels a jolt. He knows that statue. He knows that place! But it is much more weathered than he remembers...
"By Sehanine's Grace!" Larrel curses. "The dwarves... they suffered a fate similar to ours. Your 'Old Enemy' has made a lair within the ruins of Dorn's Deep."
Rolls
History - (1d20+2)
(2) + 2 = 4